


The Auction

by AwatereJones



Series: Kara [3]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gen, Harkness-Jones kids, Human trafficing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-11-28 14:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20968277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwatereJones/pseuds/AwatereJones
Summary: A little six chapter story where an auction is taking place and someone has to step in, cue Kara and Co. Well ... Kai. Let's see what the kids look like now both are of age to flex. With their werewolf family of course. ALT VERSE ... if you didn't read the first two this will make no sense at all. Love my Crumbly Cakes xxxx





	1. Chapter 1

"And now we present to you, the most spectacular offering from our treasures of beauty," the emcee announced, his right hand clutching the mic and his left slicing through the air like he was conducting an orchestra. His voice squeaked into the mic and came out booming. This was his show, and the audience hung to his every word. The camera crew was focused on him and he was ready to deliver his life's best performance. The murmuring in the hall had stopped. All eyes were on the stage. The arena was wrapped in darkness and only the podium at the front left corner of the stage stood in an oasis of light.

Don Carlito raised the wineglass and tilted it gently to his lips.

The opaque purple liquid was a 1992 Cabernet Sauvignon from the Napa Valley; at five hundred grand, it was one of the world's finest and costliest wines. His eyes closed in ecstasy as the wine warmed his taste buds. Without opening them, he flicked a finger, and the man standing behind him switched on a 50-inch TV screen showing a live feed of the auction taking place on the floor below. He rarely attended these auctions in person even though this was his property, and this was his game.

The auctions he conducted here were unlike any others.

When a bidder agreed to the price set by Don Carlito, he would then have to fight for the product on sale, either in person or through an appointed proxy. The product could only be sold when there were two or more interested parties because of what came after—a cage match, a fight to the death between the contenders, which was equally, if not more, popular than the bidding process itself. The one who emerged victorious had the final authority on the girl being sold. This unique proposition had made Don Carlito and his little game what it was today. It not only gave him the option to price his products higher than the market rate but also made the whole event a massive success among rich clients. So much so that there was a long waiting list to participate. The logistics were all handled by an efficient team working behind the scenes round the clock.

Everything operated on autopilot and Don Carlito rarely needed to be in the room for the game. But today was different. For the first time in months he felt like attending. Today he was here to watch the last auction of the night. His four bodyguards stood silently behind him.

"Ripe for love, she has just touched seventeen. Your ultimate fantasy is about to appear on the stage." The emcee was eager, his dark muscular frame almost about to break into a jig. A vid-screen behind the stage showed him to the audience in full glory. The last piece of the night was the very definition of flawless beauty. She was unlike anything anyone had ever seen on this stage. He knew that her beauty had just made his job a walk in the park— the bidders were excited and ready, glued to his every word. And he played the agony of their anticipation like a pro.

"Five hours ago, she could have been a prom queen. Certified pure. She is here looking for the one who can satisfy her thirst. Who will it be?" He paused dramatically, then gestured towards the darkness at the centre of the stage. "Presenting to you—Clara—from the great land of America. She can speak English and some Italian too."

The man behind the curtain took the cue and pressed a large green button on the dashboard. Five spotlights suddenly lit up, their narrow beams converging at the centre of the stage. The silence in the room exploded into cheers.

A girl was sitting on a cushioned chair, wearing only a pair of high heels and a pair of transparent undergarments covering her assets. She squinted painfully in the blinding white light. Like every other girl who had been auctioned before her, she was severely drugged. Her head lolled to her right. Her eyes strained to examine the shadows beyond the glaring light, but she couldn't focus. She had no memory of how she had landed up here. Not a long time ago she had been with her friends, enjoying life, and now she couldn't even lift a finger without help.

The makeup man had done a great job on her, readying her for the display. Her eyebrows were perfectly trimmed, her lips had the right shade of colour, and fake eyelashes magnified her beautiful amber eyes. Almost fairy-like, she looked the very picture of virgin beauty.

The emcee nodded at the two skimpily dressed teenage girls standing five steps behind the chair. They stepped forward in tandem and grabbed Clara's limp arms, lifting her up to display the full length of her body. The audience erupted in loud cheers. The excitement had risen to an unparalleled pitch, but Clara could only hear shadows howling.

The teenage attendants moved two steps ahead with Clara, away from the chair. The spotlight moved with them. The woman standing behind them with her severe business suit and slicked black hair that curved into a bun at the nape of her neck looked like she had stepped from the screen of an old black and white movie, perfectly manicured and quaffed, like a WWII femme fatale poster girl. Just what the Don liked to see in his handlers. Her red shoes seemed to glow in the lights as they moved past her and darkness swallowed her once more.

"Raise me a cheer if you would like to see more!" the emcee shouted on the mic. The crowd roared. "I hear you, my dear friends. I hear you."

On his signal, the two attendants turned anticlockwise and paused, exposing Clara's back to the audience. "Now tell me which ass you'd like to take?"

"CLARA!… CLARA!… CLARA!" the shadows hollered.

"If you still don't like what you see, then you have no place here." The emcee was inching towards the concluding leg of his sales pitch.

The two attendants circled again in the anticlockwise direction now facing the audience. Now was the time for the last hurrah. The young girl to Clara's left raised her hand and put it inside Clara's transparent bra, pulling her left breast out. The crowd went wild. The woman behind the chair gripped it, pulling it back behind her.

The emcee looked at the cue card. The number written on it was two hundred grand. Two hundred grand for Clara, but this was once in a lifetime opportunity for him too. With the ten percent commission, he was promised he could go on to enjoy a very luxurious year. Girls like Clara were rare to find. This was an opportunity that could not be missed. Go for the kill, he whispered to himself.

"You want her, she can be yours." He paused tantalizingly. "For only one million!"


	2. setting the scene

The crowd went silent, leaving a hollow ringing in his ears. Had he overestimated the demand? He felt a tingling sensation in his hands. Had he ruined it? Botching this sale—any sale—meant death. Don Carlito didn't like unsold inventories. And if he failed to sell a perfect product like Clara, the emcee knew Don Carlito would use a blunt saw on his limbs before putting a bullet in him. It was either the heat of the spotlights or his fear, but suddenly he was perspiring.

He knew Don Carlito was in attendance that night and must be watching him sweat. He could imagine his displeasure snowballing with every passing second. The emcee could hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

_Somebody say something, Goddammit, _he prayed.

"My master will have her." Someone had thrown his hat in the ring. A handler moved to the bidder. An Arab sheikh. His associate who had announced the bid on his behalf stood behind him with the mic.

"And… we have a connoisseur! A million is nothing for her beauty, gentlemen. Do we have another bid?"

"Interested." Someone else had entered the ring. Another handler threw a slender beam at the new bidder as the woman on the stage pointed an immaculate red talon in that direction. The Caucasian man was in an exquisitely tailored Italian suit. An expensive Rolex glittered on his wrist. His subordinate was behind him, holding the mic.

"And we have two." Suddenly the emcee could breathe. He would live and live large. He could visualize a smile on Don Carlito's face, though he had never seen him with one in real life.

"Do we have another?" The emcee was enthused to make it a three-way fight. A few more seconds passed. No new hands in the air.

"Ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… Six…" The emcee started the countdown. "Five… Four… Three… Two…"

"Interested." A voice interrupted the countdown. The suited woman on the stage rotated on a heel and found a bespectacled elderly man in a loose worn-out half-sleeved shirt, a pair of baggy jeans and an old pair of custom leather shoes. His wrinkled face and white unkempt facial hair spoke of a hard life. His hands were in the pocket. At 5'11" he had an athletic build with thick veins running down his exposed arms. His silver beard touched the upper part of his chest and his moustache was slightly curved at the ends. His blue eyes looked straight at the emcee.

A wiry, bespectacled geek probably in his early twenties stood alongside him, looking flustered. He was just over six feet and wore a t-shirt one size too large for him with the Punisher logo along with a pair of blue denim jeans and some sort of custom-made leather boots. His gaze was fixed on the floor like he was looking for a lost penny or something. He seemed like a man who was the happiest standing in a corner, away from the spotlight. In that hall, he was simply out of his element. The overconfidence of the elderly man was perfectly countered by the uneasiness of the younger one. In that hall, they looked like two sore wounds in an otherwise perfect body.

Even the emcee could not stop himself from chuckling.

The crowd followed his lead.

How had they got in? It was an invitation-only auction, and every guest was vetted by two agencies before they were provided with the location. There was no possible explanation for this, but the house rules said once you were inside the arena, you could only leave when the night was done.

The emcee was in a bind and so was Don Carlito who was now sitting up straight in his seat, his eyes on the screen. It was his house and he could ask his men to throw these two jokers out, but he couldn't do it in front of his other customers; it would be bad for business and even worse, for his reputation.

"Go on," he instructed the emcee on a private one-way channel.

The emcee wasn't expecting this, but he decided to keep his head down and follow the orders. He had already risked his life once tonight by upping the price, he couldn't do it again. "No disrespect Grandpa, but I think you didn't hear me right. It's one million dollars we're talking about, not a one-dollar bill."

The old man said nothing, did nothing, just stood there. His eyes shifted from the emcee to the girl. They spent a second longer on her. His weather-beaten face was hard to read.

"You have a million?" This time the emcee was serious.

Maybe the man wasn't in the wrong place. Maybe he had the money and the means.

"Check the escrow. The name is Willem Moon," the man replied.

The emcee didn't know how to respond. This was unfamiliar territory. He looked at his team behind the stage for confirmation. Every person attending the auction had to deposit five million dollars in an escrow account to prove he could afford to be there. The amount was refunded thirty minutes after the night ended.

"He is good," the account team's supervisor spoke on the earpiece. Both the emcee and Don Carlito heard it. One last piece of the puzzle was still missing though.

"Who will fight for you? The boy?" The emcee looked at the young man standing behind the elderly man, still gazing at the floor.

The money alone didn't have much value; it was the fight that had people hooked to this unusual auction. In this arena, throwing the hat in the ring had a literal meaning to it.

"I will," the old man responded without flinching.

This was getting ridiculous.

"What did you have today Grandpa? Roofies?" The emcee wasn't ready to let him off the hook so easily.

He got no response.

The emcee didn't know what to say, he still couldn't ascertain if the man was serious or stoned. Was he really going to fight? The situation was a first, not to mention perplexing. He looked in the direction of the second floor, hoping his boss would intervene. Don Carlito on the second floor got to his feet. The old man was turning the night into a farce. He couldn't let it happen, but he still needed someone from the audience to voice what he himself was thinking. It would be his way out. No one could say he broke his own rules if his customers want the same thing. The audience was also getting impatient.

"Is this a joke? Get this bloody codger out of here," someone shouted.

Don Carlito smiled and took the cue at once.

"I heard you gentleman, and I agree with you. None of us wants this old shit here." His voice thundered in the arena over a loudspeaker.

"I thought all this was real. If it is only for pimps, then the great Don Carlito is right, I shouldn't be here." Guns swung into readiness around him, in the darkness. One of the cameras was now on Willem who looked straight at it. Don Carlito could feel the intensity of his glare crawling on his skin.

_How dare you? _Don Carlito gnashed his teeth, yet he covered his anger in a hearty laugh. "You have balls, old man. I like it. I like your insanity. And I will fulfil your wish to die in that ring. On one condition."

Don Carlito was watching the old man on the screen, waiting for him to flinch or betray some sign of nervousness. He got nothing.

"You will take on the other two combatants at the same time. If you survive, you get the girl, but I would love to see your limbs being ripped from your body." His voice turned murkier.

Willem surpressed a smile.


	3. gotta keep it together

"Mr. Moon, in that cage you are going to die a very painful death and then I'm going to keep all your money." Don Carlito laughed. He didn't like being upstaged and this old man had the balls to do it in his own den.

He'd make sure the old man died. "READY THE CAGE."

The audience gave a muted response. The idea was a dud. This old man didn't stand a chance of surviving even a punch. Now they had wait for a few more minutes to see this man die before the real fight began between the two actual fighters.

The old man looked at his buddy and gave a slight nod.

"I have a condition too." The old man was staring straight at Don Carlito through the camera.

"Your last wish?" Don Carlito asked, with a smirk.

"I kill them, and their owners will pay for her. I get to keep both the girl and my money." His tone was cold.

"Is he insane?" the Sheikh's assistant yelled. "This is against the house rules—"

The Sheikh raised his hand to silence his associate. He was thinking, and a smile played on his lips. He whispered in his assistant's ear.

"We agree to your condition, but when you die your friend will be our slave forever."

"Only for six months, for the other six months, he will be mine." The second bidder in the Italian suit was also smiling, mic in hand.

Before the young man could say anything, the old codger nodded his head. The wiry man looked at his colleague in a panic.

"Looks like the boy doesn't agree."

The old man didn't say anything.

"I… am ready," the young man said in an unsteady voice. He looked mad at his companion. Suddenly his freedom was at stake. The old fuck had promised that it would be an easy thing, and he just had to be there to support him. And now he himself was in trouble.

Clara stared at the hazy figure of the old man. What was happening? She had no idea. Her throat was burning, she needed water. Everything else could go to hell.

"The cage is ready," the red shoe woman's voice boomed in the arena.

The spotlights shifted to a large steel cage. That was where the final battle would take place. The structure sported a blue chain-link fence with a single door. The closed fence would prevent any of the fighters from climbing out of the cage. The cage was designed to keep combatants confined with no chance of assistance from the outside, but steel ladders connected to the outside allowed anyone to climb over the top of the cage and enter the fight. The old man knew they would be in use during the fight.

"Let's begin the fight to the death," the emcee roared. The audience cheers resounded through the hall. That was why they were there.

The two fighters stepped forward from the two camps, warming up their bodies. The old man watched them closely.

"Weighing in at one hundred and ninety-five pounds and the undisputed champion of the cage matches, please welcome the man known only as PUNISHER," the emcee announced.

Punisher had the build of a boxer. A boxer who was now a leashed dog. For every champion fighter who became fantastically wealthy, there were hundreds more making less than twenty grand a year. And passion was certainly not enough to put food on your plate. The old man had seen many boxers turning into paid fighters just to avoid hunger.

Punisher was roused by the reception. He waved his arms above his head to stir the audience while giving the old man a fierce stare. He bounced from one leg to another, warming up. He was ready for another win.

"Gentlemen give a huge round of applause to welcome our next fighter! Weighing in at one hundred and fifty pounds, undefeated in one hundred and thirty-eight fights, the best fighter Japan has ever produced—Kiko Fujiwara!"

A lean, fit Asian moved into the spotlight and gave a slight bow with his hands and arms at his sides. He was a kick boxer who had been fighting for the Triad when he was bought by his current Italian owner in a poker hand. His hardened face and cold eyes took in the competition. He had to kill the old man first and then Punisher. His owner had promised him his freedom once he had delivered one hundred and fifty wins. He had twelve more to go. He entered the cage and walked towards one corner. Punisher was already inside, marking his territory at the opposite corner.

The old man studied the two fighters. With Punisher, it was easy to conclude that his fighting style revolved around boxing, but Kiko hadn't given him much to go on. He would find out soon enough.

Two unoccupied corners equidistant from his two opponents awaited him. The chances of surviving the dual attack were in the low single digits. He felt a sinking in his stomach as if his body was pleading with him to back out. It happened to him every time. The pull … the hunger.


	4. power and control

"Grandpa, you ready to die?" the emcee asked.

Willem took out his glasses and handed them to the young man and ambled towards the ring. There was no hesitation in his stride, no reluctance. The handlers moved with him, engulfing his surroundings in darkness. He could hear the sniggers and jeers. They were here for a show and he was going to give them one.

The cage door was open, swinging outwards in the air. The cool breeze from the air ducts made it oscillate with a creaking sound. Willem walked up the steps and bent to enter the ring.

The door was slammed shut behind him. He walked up to the corner opposite the door equidistant from the other two, all his senses working overtime.

"Fighters ready!" the emcee's voice boomed in the arena.

Punisher and Kiko nodded. Willem didn't. A man stepped forward with a boxing ring bell. "Fight rules. Nothing is off limits and the fight will only end when any two fighters are dead. Questions?"

The question was rhetorical. There was nothing to ask.

There wasn't anyone refereeing the fight.

It was a street fight in a cage. Punisher and Kiko were already in position, having marked Willem as the common enemy.

"Gentlemen, let the massacre begin!" The emcee rang the bell twice.

The audience's excitement was at a peak.

Kiko moved first. Willem saw him getting into an attacking stance from the corner of his eye. But turning to face Kiko meant showing his back to Punisher and Willem wasn't ready for that so early in the fight. Punisher wasn't moving. He was probably conserving his energy. Once the old man was dead, he could quickly finish his tired opponent. It seemed like a good strategy to Willem, yet he didn't turn fully towards Kiko. The distance between him and Kiko was less than three steps, but Willem realized his opponent had stepped forward with no concrete plan. It was clear he thought of the old man as an easy target and planned to finish him fast.

Willem stepped forward in a straight line, maintaining an equal distance from both. Kiko took one more step and, Willem suddenly changed his posture and let his opponent walk into a blazing roundhouse kick but just missed his skull. Kiko ducked in time but couldn't save himself from the kick crashing into his rib cage. Even before he could understand what had just happened, his body hit the mat.

The crowd was stunned into silence. It had happened so fast, no one had seen the two kicks, but everyone heard the loud crack of Willem's leather boot hitting Kiko's bones. Kiko screamed in agony, but he couldn't lose the fight so soon. He had to use all his energy to lift himself up. Willem checked Punisher from the corner of his eye; he was still in his corner, frozen with shock. Willem wasn't done yet with Kiko. Wrapping his arms around Kiko's head, he held him up as he thrust a knee into his ribs. The sound was unmistakable. Multiple ribs had snapped. Pain exploded in Kiko's chest. His breathing became labored. His legs were Jell-O. The power on display crippling. He wobbled as Willem placed an uppercut sending him into the ropes. Punisher suddenly realized that they were not even fifteen seconds into the fight and Kiko was almost dead. Willem had him bouncing between the ropes and his ruthless jabs like he was working out on a punching bag rather than a person.

Cross.

Roundhouse kick.

Hook.

Hook.

Jab.

Willem shot a back kick into Kiko's midsection. The pain was insufferable. The kick drove him through the ropes, and he hit the cage fence. His body flopped in a wet, fleshy thud to the ground. Twenty-three seconds into the game and he was dead.

Willem wasn't even panting. He stood straight, staring directly at Punisher, who could barely comprehend what had just happened. The old man in the ring had just killed one of the best fighters in less than thirty seconds.

In the box, Don Carlito felt a rush of panic. He had not planned for this. The audience too looked shocked, except the companion of the old man, whose mouth was in a thin line of annoyance.

Don Carlito spoke into his mic and two of his own fighters ran towards the cage. Willem had expected this. Before they could enter the cage, he had to finish Punisher; he had perhaps less than ten seconds to do it. Punisher held an attacking stance, but he had mentally prepared himself to fight the Asian, not this crazy oldie. He had no strategy for his opponent and his mind was suddenly bereft of ideas.

Willem saw this as his only chance; things were changing quickly, and he had to act.

Without turning.


	5. luring the viper from the pit

"Fight, you idiot. Kill him," the Sheikh yelled. Punisher instinctively turned towards his boss' voice, and that was a mistake. Willem lunged forward. Punisher saw him coming from the corner of his eye. He turned his head while swinging his right arm, bent at an angle of ninety degrees, in a horizontal arc aimed at his opponent. Willem crossed both hands to block the incoming punch but instead of deflecting it, he gripped Punisher's arm. He then pushed Punisher's arm away from his body and then brought it right back with extreme force, this time trapping Punisher's head between his own hands and his right arm, and before Punisher could understand what had just happened, his skull hit the wire mesh twice in quick succession as he threw a weak left punch which missed Willem from miles.

Willem let go of his head not his right hand. He turned it by thirty degrees in the opposite direction and a snapping sound told him that the bones had given way. He loosened his grip and let the hand fall. Punisher stumbled away from Willem, clutching his injured arm with his left hand, frightened and looking for an escape. This man had the strength of five men. He was inhuman. He knew he was toast. In his desperation, he made for the exit door, turning his back on Willem who didn't let go of the chance. He grabbed Punisher's skull from behind with both hands and gave it a hard jerk. The spinal cord attached to the skull severed without a fight. Willem released his opponent's lifeless body to the ground. But this was not over yet. He heard the cage rattling and looked up.

Don Carlito's first fighter was at the top of the ladder, ready to jump. He had not yet realized Punisher was dead. His body was already in motion. Willem moved away from Punisher, giving himself room to maneuver. The fighter jumped in, without realizing that his opponent was waiting for him and that the ill-planned leap would take him a crucial two to three seconds to recover from. Willem stood ready, and the minute the man landed, a kick in his gut took the air out of him. Before he could recover, his body was already on the ground, rolling with pain. His screams echoed in the silent arena.

Don Carlito's other fighter stopped at the top of the ladder; he had just realized that his partner couldn't complement him.

Jumping into the cage meant certain death.

Willem looked up and recognized the hesitation. He looked back at the still breathing fighter and landed a kick in his rib cage. Another set of bones broke.

"Open the cage," Don Carlito ordered on the emcee who signalled the man standing near the cage. Before the old man could take the third life of the night, the door swung open.

"The fight is over, and we have a clear winner," the emcee announced, his voice muted in shock. "Willem."

Outside, the Sheikh and the Italian squirmed with humiliation. They had not only lost their fighters and their money but also the chance to see the old man succumb to a painful death. No one cheered except one.

Willem landed squarely on the floor from the elevated cage.

His young companion was suddenly animated for the first time that night.

"Kai!" the old man shouted his companion's name.

Kai walked towards the stage where Clara was still on the chair. He jumped and landed on the dais. No one stopped him. He lifted Clara onto her feet carefully as if she were a doll. She did not resist.

"Water," she whispered in his ears.

"Water." Kai gave the emcee a no-nonsense glare. The flustered emcee handed him a bottle of packaged water from the podium. He was still having trouble believing all that had just happened. Kai opened the bottle and held it to Clara's lips. She emptied the bottle in seconds.

"More." Her voice now had strength.

The emcee handed him two more bottles. Clara gulped them both.

"Thanks," Kai said, his voice dripping with contempt.

"W… Welcome," the emcee stuttered.

Willem walked towards the stage and helped Kai bring Clara down.

"Well done, Mr. Moon." The lights came on, and an elevator door opened at the centre of the far-right wall of the first floor. Don Carlito had left his bulletproof box to meet the old man in person, enclosed by his bodyguards in a two-by-two formation.

Willem and Kai froze.

"Who are you?" Don Carlito fired the first question walking towards them.

"Is this part of the deal?" Willem asked while turning to face Don Carlito and his men, his tone neutral.

"It isn't, but without answering you can't take her with you," Don Carlito said stopping at a safe distance from the two.

While Willem was talking to Don Carlito, Kai quietly steered Clara, away from Don Carlito and his men. The handler in the red shoes was frozen, watching the exchange with narowed eyes of a brilliant blue.

"If it's not part of the deal, then I am not inclined to answer. Look, the matter is simple: I kept my side of the bargain and you must keep yours." Willem mumbled.

"You think, you can come into my home and do whatever you like," Don Carlito said, his tone ominous.

The room seemed to move as some changed stances, ears pricking up to listen to the exchange.

Careful now.


	6. mission complete

"What will you do if I tell you who I am?" Willem's eyes were fixed at Don Carlito, but he was also taking in his surroundings since the lights were now on. Kai did the same standing right behind him. Four bodyguards with Don Carlito, two at the gate. Seven bodies in total.

"I'll spare your friend," Don Carlito responded with a smirk.

"I thought your words had some worth." Willem was still indulging him. Everyone was engrossed in their conversation but what no one saw was that Willem was slowly moving his feet apart, giving himself room. Kai was doing the same behind him.

"I'll ask you one last time, who are you?"

"Now," Willem said in a neutral tone.

"Yes… now." Don Carlito thought the word was intended for him, but it was just the signal for Kai to step back as Willem transformed, the others peppering the room also transforming to show themselves, the wares suddenly large, many and pissed as all hell that they had to do this charade to get close enough to find the man who was taking children from the streets … including inadvertently one of their own.

Everything seemed to happen on auto-pilot. Willem and Kai were still looking at Don Carlito. It all happened so fast and in such an unexpected manner that before Don Carlito and his men could understand what was happening, their opponents were already armed. Before they could react, Kai had already levelled his two previously hidden guns and had shot one round each from both. Two 9 mms drilled into the skulls of two nearest bodyguards. Willem roared his orders in the ware howl as the soldiers moved to obey their Alpha. Kai fired two rounds at the men guarding the main door. None of the bullets missed their marks.

Willem and Kai had no intention of giving the remaining three a chance to act. Kai turned in his place and shot at the man to Don Carlito's right. Willem simply chomped down on the one to his left.

Before Don Carlito could draw his weapon out, his men were all gone. The spectators shuddered at the blood bath, but no one intervened. This was not their battle. Those Wares amongst them more than enough to convince them this was the Twilight Zone and they might all soon be dead themselves. The emcee had vanished from the stage. Don Carlito slipped his right hand into his overcoat.

"Don't," Kai yelled, and Don Carlito froze, his fingers inches away from his gun.

"You still want to know who I am?" Willem asked.

"No." Don Carlito's voice quivered.

"Clara. Let's go." Kai smiled at the girl who was watching everything. She limped up to Kai. The water had brought her senses back to some extent. She knew these two men from her home town, and the pretty lady walking confidently across the stage with a smoking pistol swinging by her hip made loud gunshot clicks with those heels. She instinctively trusted them. Knew this woman. She was the daughter of the boss.

Kara reached them before she slowly turned and took Clara's hand. "Your father is waiting for you. Let's go."

Tears trickled down Clara's face. Was this for real?

Willem led the way, she followed. The onlookers parted, clearing their path to the exit. Kai was still at his place, his gun pointed at Don Carlito.

"What should I do with him?" he yelled. Willem and Clara were already at the door.

Willem said nothing.

"Shit… shit… shit." Kai looked at Don Carlito and cursed.

"Leave me," Don Carlito pleaded.

"You should not have said that. You just lost all respect in my mind." Kai pressed the trigger. The last bullet from his gun left a trail of smoke behind it, even as he turned away. He didn't have to check if Don Carlito was still breathing.

He knew he would never miss a shot from that close a range.

Kai turned to the audience and smiled. "Don't leave, the police are almost here to take you all to your new home."

Once Clara was inside the black van, a warm blanket tucked around her shoulders, Willem gestured to Kara to take off. The van sped off.

"I don't know," Kai said looking into the back of the speeding van from the passenger seat beside his sister to speak to his brother-in-law "You did look good in the get-up though. The silver dye and fake latex wrinkles were actually quite effective with the opposite sex."

Willem snorted. He looked younger now, but tired. Behind the facade of the wrinkled profile lay a thoughtful face with battle scars that had been softened with time. His black hair waved back in the breeze.

"Dadda? We are ten for ten and heading back" Kai said into the radio mic happily "We rocked and they rolled. Tell Taddy the aim on the gun was pulling slightly to the left would you?"

Willem rubbed his bruised hands slowly, trying to soothe the pain. It was a known side-effect of his forced turning, but he had seen worse. He looked out the window and found a cloudless sky.

It was going to be a full moon tonight. He shut his eyes and let the rising moonlight caress his face. His mind was calm, contented. All he needed now was some sleep.

Until the Bosses asked him to hit the road again in search of another target, to be saved or murdered.

With his beautiful mate controlling the ebb and flow with those clicks of their shared heartbeat.


End file.
